


GP!Mirandy 1

by Astratta



Series: GP!Mirandy [1]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, GP!Miranda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astratta/pseuds/Astratta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GP!Miranda. Smut. What else is there to say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	GP!Mirandy 1

**Author's Note:**

> So it occurred to me that there really isn’t enough GP!Miranda around, or GP!DWP for that matter. And then this happened.

“Mmrf— What— What is that?” Andy asked breathlessly, fighting off Miranda’s hot, wet assault on her neck to glance down.  
  
Her eyes widened when she was met with an appendage she hadn’t expected, and Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to disappear. “I— I’m sorry,” the editor murmured in despair.  
  
She was an idiot. She shouldn’t have ever let it get this far. But she had thought… Andrea was so sweet, so kind trying to take care of her, trying to care for her, and Miranda had felt so lost, so sad knowing that yet another marriage had gone awry, knowing that she inevitably drove everyone—everyone—away. She had forgotten herself, forgotten how much of a monster she was. And now… And now Andrea knew. And Miranda would have to conjure up enough energy to shield herself from the harsh words she knew were to come.  
  
But…  
  
She felt a thumb brush against her tip, spreading her oozing pre-cum around, and she heard Andrea breathe “oh, wow” just before wrapping a hand around Miranda to guide her to her hot, warm, wet mouth, and normally ice blue eyes shot open, now shaded a deep navy. “Andrea!”  
  
Several delicious, miraculous moments passed before Andy stood again, shakily and without letting go of Miranda. “Inside,” she panted. “I need you inside.”  
  
“Yes. Yes!” Miranda breathed.  
  
And suddenly there was a flurry of movement that neither of them could really account for. Clothes were being ripped away as fast as humanly possible, and clumsy, rough kisses were being exchanged, and then they were somehow on a bed, and the next thing they both registered was Miranda sliding into an obscenely wet Andy.  
  
“Oh god!” Andy cried, throwing her head back.  
  
“Yes! Darling! Yes!” Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she’d been surrounded by such heat, such heavenly heat.  
  
She had the fleeting thought to be gentler, to savor Andrea.  
  
But Andrea begged, “F—faster. Please. Faster. Miranda!”  
  
So she obeyed, dimly aware that the crashing of the headboard against the wall grew raucous as they built speed. But she couldn’t care, because she was staring greedily down at Andrea, whose eyes were shut in ecstasy, whose breasts were heaving with her labored breaths, whose hips were rising in rapid time to meet Miranda’s.  
  
She wanted to burn this into her memory, this image of Andrea, her Andrea, lovely, so lovely Andrea, in bliss beneath her, in bliss because of her.  
  
And then they were both tumbling over the edge, down into the abyss, and Miranda had to force her eyes to remain open, to take in the way Andrea fisted the sheets underneath her until her knuckles were white, to take in the crimson of her cheeks and the perfect ‘O’ of her lips as she came with a silent scream.  
  
It was beautiful. She was beautiful. And Miranda needed to see it, needed to remember it, needed it, needed her.


End file.
